


Chin up, and We'll drown a little Slower

by CharlesMeansSegenToErik, Lostmyintention



Series: Chin up, and We'll drown a little Slower [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: BoyxBoy, Cutting, Eating Disorders, M/M, NO UNDERAGED READERS PLEASE, Self Harm, Sexy Times, Slash, Suicide Attempts, cuteness overload in later chaps, lots of angsty pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 00:58:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlesMeansSegenToErik/pseuds/CharlesMeansSegenToErik, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lostmyintention/pseuds/Lostmyintention
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis has to stop and wonder sometimes if maybe he’s going a bit bonkers…because he really can’t fathom how lucky he has been with his lot in life. He’s in a band with the best mates in the world, he’s in a relationship with the most devilishly handsome and charming lad he could ever imagine, and…well, he’s got his carrots.<br/>And Louis is happy. He really, really is.<br/>Until one day, he just…isn’t.<br/>He blinks back the tears burning behind his eyelids, and stares at the thin blade embedded in his wrist, thick red, liquid pooling around it quickly, and dripping onto the tile floor of the bathroom.<br/>It hurts.<br/>So he presses the edge of the razor in just a little bit more, and winces at the sharp sting, before letting the corners of his lips tug upwards slightly in a maniacal grin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is something that has been in my head for dayyys. However, in light of recent mental health issues (strangely similar to Louis' in the story) i have enlisted the help of the ever-so-lovely Lostinmyintention to help me write this as i will not be able to update regularly due to hospitalization/therapy related appts. However i have high hopes for this story and i am honored she has agreed to help write it! :) much love to her. xx I wrote this chapter, and will write the next. Then my lovely cowriter will show you what she's made of in chapter two :)

Louis has to stop and wonder sometimes if maybe he’s going a bit bonkers…because he really can’t _fathom_ how lucky he has been with his lot in life. He’s in a band with the best mates in the world, he’s in a relationship with the most devilishly handsome and charming lad he could ever imagine, and…well, he’s got his carrots.

Every morning when he wakes up, it’s to the husky tone of Harry’s humming as he cooks everyone breakfast and Louis will stand behind him with his hands on Hazza’s hips, and he’ll do his damnedest not to distract him, but he usually does anyway. He can’t help it that he has some strange addiction to touching Harry’s perfect skin, and his hair, and his stupid, wonderfully hard body, and ok the fact he always puts a couple warmed carrots on Louis’ plate when he’s done cooking melts his heart just a little. But only a little because melting hearts lead to crying, and Louis does _not_ cry.  

(That’s Harry’s thing, and Louis hates it even more when _he_ cries, because _fuck_ he looks so sad, and when _he’s_ the reason Harry’s crying, he walks around looking like someone killed Kevin, his pet pigeon.)

Ever the heavy sleeper, Niall will pander on out after everyone else has taken a seat and his eyes will light up like a Christmas tree, and of _course_ he will eat three times as much as everyone else, and keep his lovely figure. But Louis’ not sore about that at all, really, he likes his spectacular bum. Harry seems quite fond of it too if his constant gropes are anything to go by, so Louis doesn’t hold back on the syrup for his pancakes, and maybe adds a dollop of whipped cream here and there.

 And Liam will wash the dishes afterwards because he’s _Liam_ , and Liam is the responsible one, and he actually finds _pleasure_ in cleaning things; except for the spoons. Never the spoons. So Zayn will wash those for him, and sneak glances at the other boy with longing, doe eyes surrounded by ridiculously long eyelashes.

 (And everyone can see he would do anything for Liam, except of _course_ , Liam).

Concerts, and CD signings, and press conferences, and interviews, go on. And it’s been almost two and a half years now, but the bright lights on stage still blind him, and that first roar of the crowd still makes his heart beat hard, thick enough to feel between his ribs. Harry turns to look at him during Niall’s solo in ‘Little Things’ and his smile is all white teeth, and flushed cheeks, and it’s too big for his face, his hair is sticking to his forehead, jade eyes shining in the dark. But yeah, that never fails to make something familiar tighten in Louis’ stomach, and squirm its way up his chest until he realizes his heart is in his throat, and _I love you_ rests on his tongue, threatening to fall from his grinning lips.

He grinds his teeth, and purses his lips instead, but Harry gives him this look, all dark eyed and sparkly behind those sweeping lashes and Louis _knows_ , yeah, he loves him too. And that makes having to hide it in public just a little bit more okay. 

They all run around on stage, bouncing off each other’s excitement, and the adrenaline has strange effects. It makes Louis feel like he’s got the whole world in his hands. Everything is within reach, nothing is too far away. And it creates this dream-like haze and everything’s blissful, the crowd is shouting their lyrics back at them, and Louis is having such a _rush_. But that’s the thing about adrenaline, no matter how high it takes you, there’s always a crash. The higher the rush, the harder the fall. And Louis was always one to feel too much, and think too little. When he eventually does crash, Harry is there, the next morning, a warm cuppa Yorkshire in his hands waiting on Lou, with a smile on his lips, and a cock to his hips as he leans on the door way to their shared room. And Louis will curse him to Hell and back for looking so bloody dapper and _alive_ while he feels just the opposite. But he’ll take the tea, and offer up sleepy, sloppy ‘ _thank you’_ kisses anyway so the annoyed front probably doesn’t faze Harry. 

And Louis is happy. He really, _really_ is.

Until one day, he just… _isn’t_.

 

 He blinks back the tears burning behind his eyelids, and stares at the thin blade embedded in his wrist, thick red, liquid pooling around it quickly, and dripping onto the tile floor of the bathroom.

It hurts.

So he presses the edge of the razor in just a little bit more, and winces at the sharp sting, before letting the corners of his lips turn upwards slightly in a maniacal grin. He imagines he must look insane. But he can’t help it. It’s such a relief. With the ebb of his blood seeping out of the gash on the inside of his wrist, Louis can feel everything melt away. Until his vision is blurred, and his head feels stuffed with cotton, a film of milky white haze settling over his baby blues. Hand shaking, he drops the short razor blade, and his hands fall to the floor, splayed out in such a way that if anyone were to find him they would see what he had done.

But no one would find him. Not before he got what he wanted.

His toes and fingers begin to tingle first. And then it spreads in what feels like the blink of an eye, until his body is numb, and cold. He tries to remember the last time he felt warm, loved.

As his eyes close and the last thing he sees is red, red, red all over the once pristine white tiled floor. His arms, his clothes slowly become drenched in the viscous liquid, the smell is overpowering. Salt and something else, something pungent, and vile.

Louis leans back against the bathtub, and inhales deeply. He closes his eyes.

Lips moving inaudibly, pale and bloodless, he whispers a last sentiment.

“Harry”

It’s a _goodbye_ , and an ‘ _I love you’_. It echoes off the walls.

His heart beats steadily, obscenely loud.

_Tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump. Tha-thu_

And then its silent.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's not too much going on in this one. Just the buildup gotta get the boring stuff outta the way. But i did give u a little Larry make out ;) thank me with a review? :)

It starts with a comment here or there. A crude whisper overpowered by the screams of adoration. A harsh tweet hidden amongst all the praise.

 And at first it doesn’t bother him, hardly takes notice, really. Louis, just like all the other boys, is no stranger to hate. It’s inevitable. But they’ve always focused on the quality of his voice, and whether they thought he deserved to be in the band or not.

 _This_ is completely different. And it stuns him every time it happens.

They have just finished a concert signing in New York, and on their way back to the tour bus they see crowds of fans waiting behind the wrought iron gate. It’s nearly twenty degrees out, which is insane, so they head over to give them a couple autographs and handshakes through the bars. It’s the least they can do. The girls’ screams grow phenomenally in volume when they see the guys approaching, and they stick around for a good ten minutes or so just chatting, and signing whatever gets shoved in their faces.

Eventually though, Paul gives the signal that they can’t hang around outside anymore, and they say their goodbyes. Louis is the last to leave the gate, before he can get too far though, a small, thin hand reaches out and wraps around his wrist, tugging. He turns around to tell whoever it is that “ _I’m sorry”_ and _“I have to go”,_ and is greeted by a rather pretty brunette. She sneers at him, before taking her hand back.

“You know you don’t belong with them. With Harry,” her voice is low, and none of the girls around her are paying attention, too busy waving at the other guys or trying to get Louis’ attention.

“Pardon me?” Louis sputters, utterly shocked at this girl’s gall.

“You heard me, fat arse. You’re not fit or even mildly attractive, I don’t see why he chose _you_ ,” she scoffs, and then leans forward, “You know you could stand to lose a stone or two. Everyone thinks so, why do you think we all comment on your hideous arse so often? You should just like drop out of the band or something, save yourself all the humiliation you’ll be in when Harry leaves you himself.”

And okay- _ouch_.

She gives him one last disgusted look before turning and worming her way through the throng of teenage girls. Louis is dumbstruck. Since when was his weight a topic of discussion? Do any of the other girls feel the same? Does Harry?

 _No. Of course not. Don’t let that twat get to you, she’s not a fan if that’s what she thinks_ , a voice in his mind says and it sounds comfortingly like Harry.

Hours later, when he’s lying in bed, cuddled into Harry’s side, all Louis will be able to think about is how cold the girl’s skin felt, and how mean her heart was, with a sharp tongue, and unblinking eyes, as if she really, honestly believed everything she had said. But his _inner_ _Harry_ will adamantly refuse to let him agonize over it, so he’ll push it aside, with great difficulty.  Because the voice is right. It’s no different than when some rather vicious “fans” attacked Zayn for his religion, or back in the start when Harry got an obscene amount of unwarranted hate for no reason. Louis hadn’t let them believe what was being said, because it _wasn’t_ _true_. So he’s taking his own advice.

It’s still hard though, because it does hurt, and somewhere in the back of his mind a part of him is nodding his head along with the things the girl said to him. That part of him seems to always be waiting for someone to confirm those things about him. He’s always been insecure but he’s covered it up with loud laughs and inappropriate jokes, and quirky behavior. So he tries to forget the incident, but he knows he needs to perfect his acting skills because Harry keeps asking him “what’s wrong?” and giving him worried looks over the next few days. But then, that’s just because Harry knows him better than anyone else.

(He’s the sassmaster for crying out loud! He scoffs at the mere thought that his acting skills need work. _Pfft_.)

 But he does get past it. It’s just one person, right? So he shakes it off, and everything is bright in his world. Until it happens again.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

“Hey Lou, you gonna finish that?” Niall nods towards Louis’ half-finished slice of pineapple pizza.

Louis really wants to scoff it, but he can clearly see the paparazzi outside the grease joint he and the boys were at for lunch, and he doesn’t fancy seeing it all over the post the next morning. So, he shrugs nonchalantly and scoots his plate over to Niall.

“Nah, not really hungry, mate. You go ahead, yeah?” and then he excuses himself to use the loo.

He can feel Harry’s eyes on his back the whole way across to the washroom, as well as multiple other stares from some fans that were scattered throughout the place. It takes all of three seconds for Harry to step into the toilets with him (Louis counted) and pull Louis to his chest. He resists the cuddle at first, but then Harry’s large hands slide south to grip at his hips, thumbs pressing gently onto the slight edge of his hipbones.

And really Louis doesn’t have much of a chance at resisting after that.

He breathes out slowly through his nose, nuzzles his face into Harry’s neck, and then inhales with gusto. Mint tea leaves, Old Spice body wash, and something that smells like…home, invades Louis’ senses, and the familiar scent immediately takes effect. Louis’ body seems to just puff out a sigh of relief, all his muscles slacken, and his mind goes all fuzzy, and all he wants is to just slide into a pile of goo on the nasty, tiled floor of the stall that he and Harry are standing in.

 (He tried to explain it to Harry once, and he said it sounded like he made Louis high, with just his smell. Louis didn’t deny the possibility.)

 Harry is all sugary smiles with red lips, and gangly limbs, and soft chocolate curls, with sweet nothings whispered in Louis’ ears, and heavy breathing late at night, panting, and writhing, hands gripping his thighs, bruises on his neck, and the declarations of love tinted with desire as they came together to complete one another.

But the world is bigger than his Harry. Its cold angles, and sharp corners, and quick, brutal blasts of reality in the faces of people who could really use a place to dream. It’s placating, close-mouthed smiles from the management, and lies, lies, lies. But somehow, Harry manages to be the only thing Louis sees.

Even if the world is bigger, more powerful, clever and conniving.

Harry is magic.

 The old kind, the kind that existed before superpowers, and psychics and eleven year olds blessed with wooden wands.

Only it used to be called _love_.

And Harry’s love surrounds Louis, encompasses him, swallows him whole, like the night sky, or the beat of a heart pressed beneath his cheek late at night. It’s soothing.

 (Louis loves to fall asleep atop Harry, so he can be lulled by the Cheshire lad’s steady heartbeat. It keeps him grounded, where Louis might otherwise suddenly feel the urge to fly away, from all the sharp edges and loud screams of this solid world, to somewhere softer, with kinder smiles, and quiet voices.)

Louis shudders deeply, feeling his bones shake with it. He looks up at Harry and his voice is wrecked when he parts his lips.

“Tell me you love me.”

Harry’s pupils are blown wide; his eyebrows furrowed deeply, lips pursed. He cradles Louis’ face in his large palms, and his thumbs move across the sharp cut of Louis’ cheekbones in sweet comfort. He steeples his forehead with Louis’ and never breaks eye contact when he murmurs lowly, yet firmly.

“I love you, Louis Tomlinson.”

As if a cord has been cut, every cruel word spilt from a supposed “fan’s” mouth has been wiped clean from his mind. Every harsh glare, or taunting laugh, has been undone. His stomach untwists, the knots that had been there for days, vanishing. His vision becomes sharper; his skin feels pleasantly warm and flushed. It’s a nice change from the chill he’d been fighting off all week.

His heart races, leaping into his throat, and thrumming against his collarbones as if trying to rip itself from Louis and make itself a home inside Harry.

 (But that can’t be right, because he would swear that Harry had stolen his heart from him the moment they met in the loo at the X Factor, and it had been so _awkward_ , but then Harry had made a joke about the graffiti on one of the stalls, and Louis had known even back then, that Harry was gonna be special. And he was, so _very_ special to Louis, so _fast_ , that it terrified him. So he pushed him away, away, away. Hoping he could spare himself the inevitable pain that was sure to come, and hoping Harry would let him go. He didn’t. Instead in typical Harry fashion, he kept pulling Louis back. With a pout, and teary hypnotizing emeralds, and _gimmie_ , _gimmie_ , _gimmie_ grabby hands, almost childlike as if he thought that Louis would _really_ leave him. And that’s when he knew Harry had felt the same way, and Louis thought, okay. They can be scared together.)

Peering out from underneath his lashes, Louis gave him a small smile, and his eyes were glittering, and mischievous as always. _And_ \- Harry exhales relieved- _there you are_ , when he sees the old Louis gazing back at him.

“Lou?”

Louis sighs, and looks at Harry’s lovely-looking collarbones, which if he may say so, (he may) look absolutely ravishing in the V-neck t-shirt he is wearing.

“I don’t really want to talk about it, Hazza.”

It’s _embarrassing_. He didn’t think so before, but now standing wrapped up in Harry’s arms, he realizes how foolish he has been to listen to the comments that certain girls were throwing at him. He knows Harry loves him, knows that he’s not fat, or useless, or an arsehole (well maybe a bit of a twat, but not a _deliberately_ …Okay maybe sometimes. But it’s harmless!), and he also knows he’s not a terrible singer. So why had he listened? Basking in Harry’s embrace, Louis cant’ bring to the forefront of his mind the reason.

“Where have you been, hmm?” Harry murmurs in that slow voice of his, tilting Louis’ chin up with two fingers, attempting to meet his eyes.

Louis acquiesces easily enough, bringing his eyes up to meet the questioning, anxious ones of his lover’s. He immediately feels his stomach twist up with guilt at the worry in Harry’s pretty eyes. He can see that he made his boyfriend worry, and (by the looks of the bags underneath his eyes that Louis hadn’t noticed before, _how_?) it seems he’s been worried for quite some time now. There is a grey twinge to his skin, his curls are far less bouncy than they were last week, and his eyes seem haunted.

“Oh, Haz,” Louis breathes out, tears pricking his eyes again, “I didn’t mean to worry you, love. I have just been…stuck in my head lately.”

“I missed you,” Harry caresses his lips with his index finger, before leaning down and softly connects his lips to Louis’ in a familiar touch.

It starts soft, and gentle, but Louis (ever the impatient bastard) groans into Harry’s mouth. And Harry’s been doing this long enough to know that that means he wants more. So he suckles Louis’ bottom lip in between his own, and runs his tongue along it. Louis opens immediately. Harry lets go of his bottom lip in favor of sneaking his tongue into Louis’ mouth, and drags the flat of his tongue from the bed of Louis’ all the way up to the roof of his mouth in one thick, wet lick. Louis releases a whining, keening noise and tilts his head for more, fingers grasping Harry’s t-shirt tightly, and slotting their hips together, chests pressed close.

(Underneath the lusty haze, Louis’ chest blooms with warmth at the way that their bodies line up perfectly, and marvels out how perfect they feel together.)

The kiss becomes needy quite quickly. Louis wants to be closer to Harry, almost in an apologetic manner. Wants to show him how sorry he is, for pushing him away this past week, being unconsciously distant, wants to surround himself with Harry, until any bad thoughts are drowned out by the pools of emerald in Harry’s eyes, and the roll of his hips against Louis’.

Harry’s teeth clink against his, but they both ignore the noise, their lips smacking together obnoxiously. Louis’ tongue forces Harry’s back into his mouth so that he can have his turn at exploring. His tongue runs along the back of his lover’s straight white teeth, and he pulls back slightly to nip at the plump, red lower lip that he’s fantasized about since his X Factor days. He is rewarded with a husky moan, and large hands leaving his face in favor of grasping his small hips pressing him impossibly closer to the hard body in front of him.

(Cursing all that is Holy, Louis’ seriously wishes he could breathe through gills on his neck or something, because snogging Harry is far more important and _pleasant_ than something as silly as breathing. But alas, it is not so, and he grudgingly comes to terms with the fact that licking into his boyfriend’s sinful mouth must be interrupted occasionally to gasp in air. But he definitely intends to procrastinate until he’s near fainting before unlatching his lips from Harry’s.)

Louis’ mind is beginning to fog, and he is seeing white behind his closed eyelids, when Harry decides he needs air, and rips his lips from Louis’ and slides them down to his jawline, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses all the way down to his collarbones, before nibbling on said defined bones, amorously. Gasping for breath, Louis opens his eyes, and threads the fingers of both hands into his curls and pushing Harry’s teeth down harder.

(Early in their relationship, Harry discovered that for as often as Louis enjoys giving playful love bites on everyone within reach, he himself finds it insanely sexy when Harry marks him up. Especially when it’s where everyone can see it. Louis’ a bit of an exhibitionist to be honest. And Harry has absolutely no qualms about encouraging him. Leaving deep purple marks all over his neck and teeth marks on his shoulders. The guys will moan and groan about not needing ‘a live showing of the aftermath of a pornography film starring Curly and Lou’ but they don’t hide their small, fond grins well from the two boys, so Harry figures their not as sore about it as they put on.)

Licking hotly, up the length of Louis’ neck, Harry bites down harshly and then soothes it with his tongue, hearing Louis’ high-pitched yelp. With Louis’ pants in his ear, hands tugging his hair, and the skin swelling underneath his teeth and tongue, Harry pulls back to admire his work. There is a massive bruise forming where Harry’s lips had previously claimed, coloring from red to a purplish color quite swiftly. Harry runs his fingers over it, and smirks when Louis lowly whimpers, before moaning wantonly, grinding his hips up into Harry’s.

He is about to set off making that sound come out of his lover’s lips again, and again, and again, when there is a knock on the locked bathroom door. They both freeze.

“Harry, Louis? Did ya fall in or something, mates? You been gone for twenty minutes,” it’s Niall.

They breathe a sigh of relief, that it’s not anyone else. Their appearance would be a little difficult to explain. They straighten out each other’s clothes, and wipe their mouths, trying to get the swelling to go down. Harry unlatches the stall they’re both in, and they unlock the bathroom door. Niall is grinning at them already when they open it. He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Harry rolls his eyes at his immaturity, but doesn’t take the bait. He’s dating _Louis_ ; he’s quite used to far worse insinuations. But Louis blushes, uncharacteristically. Niall raises an eyebrow at that, and opens his mouth to –presumably- ask what that’s about, but Harry cuts him off.

“We’ll be right out, Ni.”

Niall just nods, closes the door for them, and walks off. Turning to Louis, Harry entwines their fingers, and brings his hand up to press a kiss to the back of his hand. Louis smiles lovingly, fluttering his eyelashes up at Harry.

(Sometimes, Harry wonders if he has any idea how pretty he is, and if he’s aware of some of the stuff he does that tempts Harry. Like fluttering his eyelashes like some tween girl. It should be annoying, but it’s only endearing to him, bringing attention to Louis’ baby blues, and his long, feathery eyelashes.)

“You alright, now?” he says quietly into Louis’ hand which is still pressed close to his mouth.

“Yeah. Thanks to you,” Louis replies, biting his lip and watching Harry’s lips pressing butterfly kisses onto the smooth skin of his hand.

“Please don’t leave me like that again. You were so distant this past week. You know you can come to me with anything right, love?”

“I know,” Louis nods, “I promise it won’t happen again. It was over something stupid anyway.”

“It’s not stupid. It upset you, baby. Therefore it’s important to me. I don’t ever want you to feel like something is too stupid to talk to me about, okay? Never. You can always talk to me. As your best friend, but especially as your boyfriend.”

“I love you,” Louis mumbles, suddenly shy.

“I love you more,” Harry’s reply is immediate, and heartfelt.

Harry leans down to press a light kiss to Louis’ pink lips before he unlinks their hands, and bows deeply gesturing to the exit to the bathroom.

“After you, then, Milady,” he grins goofily up at Louis from his bowed position.

Louis squawks indignantly and smacks a hand to his chest in mock surprise.

“How very dare you, squire! I am most certainly not a lady!” he harrumphs before turning on his heel and gliding out of the room, nose in the air, pretentiously.

Harry chuckles, and follows with his normal saunter.

“Could have fooled me, drama queen,” he chuckles under his breath again when Louis gasps, and starts on a tirade about having him beheaded for daring to mock his very, manly-esque behavior.

(That’s not a word, Lou. Yes, it is Harry! No, it’s not. It’s not in the dictionary, boo. Well…It’s a word in Louis’ Land, okay? There! Now let me be manly.)

He grins widely, baring his teeth, when they both reach the table with the boys, and not a one of them looks surprised at Louis’ antics. Rather they look relieved. Harry wasn’t the only one that had been worried. It seems that Louis’ picks up on it too, because he’s making a big, obnoxious deal about everything, and hanging all over the boys, finding some way to make physical contact, in his own way of assuring them that he is fine.

“Liam James Payne! What _are_ you eating?” Louis gestures at the full plate in front of Liam.

“Um, nothing?”

“Exactly! You are a growing boy! You need to get your daily awarded amount of grease in or you won’t have strong bones and teeth when you grow up lad!” Louis says pushing the plate closer to Liam.

Liam rolls his eyes, “Lou, its fried chicken, that’s only true for vegetables. You know I don’t eat grease,” but he eats it anyway contradicting himself, and trying (failing) not to smile.

“Nonsense, grease is vital to some part of your body, I’m sure,” Louis waves his hand dismissively.

“Ahem,” he turns to Zayn, next.

Zayn freezes mid-sip of his drink, and looks at Louis out the corner of his eye, warily.

“Can I help you?” he says dryly.

“Yes! Yes, you can, Mr. Malik. You can explain to me why you are drinking that fizz? It will give your vocal chords diseases, and they will shrivel up and disappear until you can’t even talk anymore, and then you’ll have to quite the band, and go live in some mental home with other mute people or worse get like a service-parrot (do they have those? What do you think Harry?) and we’ll have to teach it how to say stuff for you, like how to give a cab driver your address when your lost and you need to get home or you’ll freeze or starve to death out in the wild and end up eating your parrot to survive, and then what will you do! _What then_ , Zayn! WHO WILL SPEAK FOR YOU?!”  Louis is shaking his shoulders violently by now, and his nose is pressed against Zayn’s.

Silence.

“They don’t have service-parrots, Louis,” Harry breaks the quiet, amused, “And Zayn is drinking flavored water, not pop.”

 “Oh, well okay then!” Louis pipes cheerily, letting go of Zayn’s shoulders, and patting them companionably, “Sorry, mate. It was out of love in the deepest corner of my heart that I had to get that out.”

Zayn smiles weakly, and nods feigning indifference. But Harry catches his eye over Louis’ shoulder, and Zayn’s eyes sparkle with amusement.

Louis moves onto Niall, excitedly recounting a prank he had thought up on the spot that he needed help with. Everyone is laughing, and when Harry pushes his last slice of pizza towards him, Louis hesistates only minimally, then looks at him gratefully, and tears into it.

Harry smiles fondly.

“Hey Louis, are those bite marks?”

He winks at Zayn (the one who noticed the marks) and busts out laughing when Louis tugs on the collar of his shirt to show them off more, like a peacock displaying his feathers, shameless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No ZIam love in this one but, i was focused on Larry, deff in the next chapter!!


End file.
